


Truffle

by Arsenic



Series: Discipline and Punish [11]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-17
Updated: 2007-10-17
Packaged: 2020-03-27 15:30:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19015720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: Mikey's part of this, too.





	Truffle

When the alarms went off, Mikey sprinted from the library to his cell, because it was just stupid to wait for the hacks and their nightsticks. He caught Gerard out of the corner of his eye as he ran. There were hacks around Bob and him and he was covered in blood. Mikey skidded to a stop and screamed, "Gerard!"

A hack slammed into him from the back and said, "Come on Way, lockdown."

Mikey struggled, struggled like he never did even knowing it was futile, that the hack was heavier than him, was _armed_ for fuck's sake. He panted, "Gerard," because he couldn't stop himself, not even when he was back behind the bars of his cell. He made himself stop throwing his body against the bars, they weren't fucking going to go anywhere and this was stupid, stupid. He turned to see if Frank--Frank who couldn't have stopped Mikey for himself, couldn't because he wouldn't fucking touch Mikey and okay, okay, so Mikey flinched, he did, but that was fixable, it was fucking, whatever, _whatever_ \--knew something.

Frank wasn't on his bunk.

It occurred to Mikey, probably several seconds later than it should have, that Frank would have at least tried to _talk_ him away from the bars. Mikey sank to the floor. He pressed his palms to the cement. It was cold, but it was also solid, and Mikey needed that. "Fuck," Mikey whispered. " _Fuck_."

 

*

He fell asleep on the floor, on his knees. He fell asleep and woke to visions of blood on his hands. Not the Skinheads', although Mikey probably deserved that. If he was honest with himself, Mikey didn't care, not really. Mikey knew what the guy would have done if Frank hadn't played his own endgame. Mikey knew what would have happened if Frank hadn't been able to re-establish himself as the alpha.

He could have taken the resultant memories, the shock of it--Mikey hadn't thought about what Frank would do, hadn't allowed himself to. That had maybe been his mistake, because he thought he could have figured it out, if he had. At least enough that it wouldn't have been so sudden. As it was, Frank had given him warning, a little, sending him to the showers alone like that. Mikey really should have thought it through on his own. But then his reaction might not have been so untutored, and Frank had needed that, Mikey knew. Frank would have told him, otherwise, he was pretty sure.

He could have taken the memories, but Frank's withdrawal was unfair. Mikey didn't even really believe in the precept of fairness anymore and Frank's actions still struck him as otherwise.

Mikey looked down at his hands, still pressed to the cement. They were blood free. He shook his head to rid himself of the leftover images from the dream, sneaking a look at Frank's bunk. Still not there.

"They're fine," he said softly. "Fine."

He didn't get up off the floor.

 

*

The lockdown ended at the thirty-six hour mark so far as Mikey could tell, and he made sure to get himself next to Gerard at breakfast. Gerard seemed to be perfectly fine. Mikey knew better than to touch him, really he did, but he couldn't help a small press of his fingers to the edge of Gerard's shoulder. He said, "Gee, Gee, you were bleeding."

Gerard's eyes widened for a second and he shook his head. "No, Mikey. It wasn't mine. The blood wasn't mine."

For the first time in over a day, Mikey could actually breathe, actually communicate with his lungs in a meaningful way. He let himself catch his breath before asking, "You um... Did you see Frank at all, before-- I think he might be in the hole, or solitar--"

Gerard and Bob were both looking at him with an expression Mikey didn't want to know, but he did. "What?"

"The blood, Mikey-- The blood was Frank's. He got in the middle to, I, he was trying to help me get to Bob and one of the Latinos--"

Mikey was very careful to keep his head up, to make sure his face was blank. "Is he dead?"

Gerard and Bob exchanged a look. Mikey asked again, "Is he dead?"

Bob said, softly, "We don't know."

 

*

The fact that they hadn't moved Mikey out of his cell, or someone into it, was a good sign. As was the fact that Mikey hadn't heard any whisperings of the need to contact family. But good signs could be--and generally, in this place, were--deceiving. Mikey needed a way to know.

And if Frank _wasn't_ dead, Mikey needed a way to kill him himself when he got back. Mikey had been scared out of his fucking mind enough for one lifetime. It wasn't right for Frank to do this to him, not even if he was just trying to help Gerard.

Well, okay, maybe that was a good enough reason. Probably. Fuck. Mikey fucking hated Frank Iero. Except for the part where he really, really didn't. Except for the part where, evidently, he was prepared to forgive him anything.

If it wouldn't have undermined everything Frank had worked for--and if Mikey weren't holding out for Frank to still be alive--he would have just traded himself to the Homeboys for a bit to get some information on action down in the infirmary. As neither of those "ifs" were the case, Mikey was going to have to figure out some other way.

He was still considering it when one of the Homeboys came to him and said, "Iero says to tell you to tell that brother of yours that he'll tell you himself."

Mikey said, "Um."

The Homeboy shrugged. "No idea what it means. I did my part." He walked off. Mikey wondered if Frank had somehow actually made himself a friend while down with a knife wound. That was so...Frank. Mikey blinked and went to work, trying to ignore the way his head had stopped ringing.

 

*

He sat with Gerard at dinner and said, "Frank says to say that he'll tell me himself."

Gerard broke into the kind of smile that was ill-advised, but Mikey could sympathize. He was kind of glad Gerard was taking care of it for him. Then Gerard got himself straightened out and said, "Good. Asshole should."

"What's he going to tell me?" Mikey tried.

Gerard rolled his eyes.

 

*

It was a little complicated, keeping himself safe while Frank was out of the game. Bob and his Russians and even the Bikers did what they could without really interfering all that much, which helped with the showers. The Italians and the Chinese left him to his devices for one reason or another. The Skinheads steered clear.

The Latinos and the Homeboys were more interested in Mikey than caution would have dictated, given that it was clear that Frank was going to return--and that he had a vested interest in keeping what was his. _Protecting what was his_ , but they didn't know that. If Mikey and Frank could help it, they wouldn't be finding it out.

Playing Cat and Mouse with Mikey while Frank was away was a challenge, though, and they all knew it. Given that the Homeboys actually caught Mikey--did things that forced him to keep his eyes open so that he could remind himself _not Frank, NOT Frank,_ \--a challenge that Frank would probably have to respond to if he found out about it. Mikey didn't really plan on letting that happen.

They didn't do quite enough damage to get Mikey to the infirmary. He was almost tempted to taunt them into more, to get him to where he could see Frank. But that would ruin his ability to stay silent, and Frank would fucking kill him if he figured out that he'd brought any of the harm on himself. Mikey would have a hard time blaming him. He was glad he'd stayed mildly sane about the whole thing when Gerard said, "Hey," and rubbed his back and looked at him with wide, scared eyes that were a little less scared for the fact that Mikey was at least still there to have his back rubbed.

"Hey," Mikey said, sore and shaky, but alive and next to Gerard and sure that Frank would come back to him. "Draw me something?"

"What do you want?" Gerard asked.

_Frank._ "Use your imagination."


End file.
